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by 796116311389



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 03:14:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21154676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/796116311389/pseuds/796116311389
Summary: The man points into the distance."Are you forgiven?"*****John watches as Sherlock falls into the inky black water of the river."SHERLOCK!"Only the rushing waters answer his cry.





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [sherrllocked](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherrllocked/gifts).

> This is a gift for the lovely hushwatson! I hope you like it! :D
> 
> It will be three chapters. ;)
> 
> Thank you to Coat for the quick read through on this. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine ;)

Sherlock wakes and he is on the back porch. He's in a reclining lawn chair facing the fields behind his small cottage. 

The grey light of the day seems to come from everywhere at once. There are clouds hanging low, threatening rain. A heavy tension thickens the air. It's quiet save for a low humming off in the distance. 

He looks down at his gnarled and old hands. They're cold above the blanket draped over the rest of his body. 

He's so old.

When did he become so old? 

The thought exhausts him and already he's drifting off back to sleep. 

****

When he wakes again the light is the same but it feels as if years have passed him by. 

There is no wind in the fields and the humming is incrementally louder. 

Sherlock squints at the distance; a hazy figure, dark against the golden grass heads towards him. 

He fights the urge to fall asleep again, but it's a losing battle. He's out again in seconds. 

****

A clatter startles him awake. 

A man is seated across from him. 

Sherlock feels as if the man is familiar but at the same time as though the man has no memorable features to himself. 

It's disconcerting to look too long. 

"Who are you?" Sherlock's voice is paper thin and hollow, more a whisper then anything else. 

The man tilts his head slightly and responds, "Are you forgiven?" 

Sherlock doesn't know what to make of the man's question answer, but it makes him unspeakably sad. 

"How long have you been here?" Sherlock tries to add a tone of imperiousness, but he's not even sure his voice carries any sound. 

Still, the man answers.

"Would you know?" 

The question sends a painful spike of adrenaline through Sherlock's body, because he wouldn't know. He has no way of knowing if the man has been with him days, months, or even years. 

Time doesn't seem to have meaning to him anymore. 

The humming grows louder to him as the adrenaline drains from his limbs, leaving him drained and drifting again. 

****

The next time he comes aware of his surroundings, the humming surrounds him like the bees of his hives. 

He opens his eyes and, while he's still in his chair, he is now on a cliff overlooking the sea. 

Sherlock stares off into the distance. There are mountains he doesn't remember being off the coast of England. 

Though, is he even in England anymore? He doesn't know. 

The sea is unnaturally calm. Flat as a mirror.

The light still surrounds and the storm still threatens. 

The man stands next to him. 

"Where are we?"

The man points into the distance, "Are you forgiven?"

Sherlock looks into the distance. 

The mountains seem closer. They carry darkness and night with them.

He looks to the man with frustration, "I don't know what that means!"

The man calmly steps in front of Sherlock and Sherlock realizes he can make out the man's face. A blonde, youthful compared to him, though definitely not young any more, with stormy blue eyes. He's handsome and Sherlock wishes for a second he was younger before quashing the feeling. 

The man looks over his shoulder at the mountains which Sherlock realizes with a panic are moving closer still.

"It means RUN, SHERLOCK, RUN!" 

Sherlock forgets that he is old and that his limbs ache and that he has no wind left in his lungs. He flings himself from his chair and runs as the waves as tall as mountains crash into the cliff swallowing the man, the lawn chair and everything else in its wake. 

He runs and runs across the fields, the waves closing in on him. The water black and swirling, cresting and falling, rushing past him on either side, but somehow he manages to stay just a step ahead until he doesn't. 

He falls and the waves swallow him, cover him in their depths. He gasps and takes in only water. He is too late. 

Oblivion takes him. 

****

The humming has quieted this time when he regains consciousness. It's only the gentle buzz of electricity. He can't open his eyes yet, so he catalogs his surroundings with his other senses. A steady beeping reaches his ears: ah, a hospital then.

He can't recall why he would be in a hospital. 

He vaguely recalls a nightmare of drowning.

However, it's his head and his gut that ache the most now. 

And someone is holding his hand. 

Sherlock forces his eyes open at this revelation and is met with the sight of a blonde man sleeping uncomfortably on the edge of his bed. Sherlock flexes his hand and the man stirs. 

Sherlock watches as the man lifts his head and looks at their joined hands and then up to Sherlock's face. When their eyes meet every trace of exhaustion and sleep leaves the man's face. He lights up at the sight of Sherlock watching him. 

"Oh my God, Sherlock! Oh, thank God."

Sherlock watches with curiosity as the man's eyes shine with unshed tears and he holds Sherlock's hand to his face. 

He doesn't know this man, but he knows with a bone deep certainty that his next question will cut him deep. 

"Who are you?"


End file.
